


you stole my soul to set me free

by Spikedluv



Series: Declaration Series [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Episode Tag, Fix-It, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3883000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clint still couldn’t quite believe he’d let Phil talk him into this.” </p><p>(Or, Clint infiltrates The Playground and discovers what Phil has really been up to.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you stole my soul to set me free

**Author's Note:**

> Clint-centric. This story follows [imperfect words inside the perfect song](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3795016) and takes place during AoS eps 2.18 Frenemy of My Enemy and 2.19 The Dirty Half Dozen, and just before Avengers: Age of Ultron (though there are no specific spoilers for the movie that aren’t in the AoS episodes). Title taken from David Cook’s ‘Declaration.’
> 
> Written: May 5, 2015 (one day after the 3 year anniversary of ‘The Avengers’ release)

Clint still couldn’t quite believe he’d let Phil talk him into this. He reached up and touched the cotton over his sternum. He’d gotten used to the chain around his neck, tucked beneath his t-shirt, and it felt strange for it to be missing. Phil’s dog tags (fucking Fury) and the wedding band Clint hadn’t been able to wear since New York, first because of guilt, and then because of anger, had been the only things Clint had of Phil, and he’d worn them every day.

Clint dropped his hand and studied the chain link fence as he walked up to the gate. The entire fence was electrified according to the sign hanging from it, and Clint saw no reason to test that warning. He stopped at the gate and raised his eyes to the security camera attached to a pole. With one this obvious there had to be others, but Clint didn’t need to know where they were to get the attention of whoever was inside.

Without taking his eyes off the camera, Clint set his bag and bow case on the ground at his feet. Once they were empty, he held his hands out to his sides and said, “I’m unarmed,” to whoever was watching the security feeds.

Clint kept his eyes on the camera and silently began counting. He got to 17 before the gate slid open. Clint inclined his head in a ‘thank you,’ and then bent to pick up his bag and case. He walked across cracked asphalt towards an old warehouse.

The exterior of the warehouse was nondescript, if a tad dilapidated. There were two large windows on either side of a set of swinging doors with most of the panes of glass blacked out. From its rundown appearance, Clint wouldn’t have guessed that the warehouse was once home to an old SSR base that Fury had refurbished into a secret bunker hilariously nicknamed ‘The Playground.’

The doors didn’t appear to be secured, and he had been invited in, so Clint pushed them open and stepped inside the warehouse. The light was dim after the sunlight outside, but Clint’s eyes adjusted quickly. Still, he blinked a few times to give the appearance that his sight was still affected by the change in light to give himself a few seconds to assess the situation.

The room was large enough to house the Bus Phil said was normally hangared there. A large tool box sat along the wall and there were several crates stacked in the middle of the floor. Agent Barbara Morse stood about ten feet from the where Clint had stopped, arms crossed over her chest, feet planted. A squad of eight armed guards stood at her back, their weapons all aimed at Clint.

“Bobbi,” Clint said, forcing a bit of surprise into his voice. “Long time, no see.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms. “Barton,” she said to Clint, then to one of the guards, “Search his bags.”

“Bobbi,” Clint said. “I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone these days,” Bobbi said.

“Understandable,” Clint said, then, “Hey,” when he saw one of the guards unzipping his bag. “I’ve got a pair of Cap boxers in there. They go missing, I’ll know who took them.”

Bobbi’s frown deepened. “What are you doing here, Clint?” she said impatiently.

Clint shrugged. “Thought I might be of assistance.”

Bobbi gave him a skeptical look. “You’ve been out of the game for a while . . .”

“Hey, I can still . . . !”

“. . . so how’d you hear about us?”

“Oh,” Clint said, dialing it back a bit when he realized that Bobbi hadn’t been questioning his skill with the bow. “I still hear things.”

At Bobbi’s look, he said, “Okay, I _know_ people who hear things.”

“And what did this person hear?”

“That, just like Humpty Dumpty, someone was trying to put SHIELD back together again,” Clint said. “Without the extra special HYDRA add-on this time.”

Someone stepped out of the shadows. “He’s telling the truth,” Agent Melinda May said.

“Agent May,” Clint said.

“I agree,” Bobbi said.

“Bring him in for a debrief,” May said.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Clint went on as if both agents weren’t completely ignoring him.

May’s gaze bore a hole in Clint. “Frisk him first.”

Clint rolled his eyes, but obediently held his arms out to his side. “Is this really necessary?”

“We’ve been burned before by someone we trusted,” May said. “So yes.”

Clint stood quietly while the guard frisked him, confiscating his phone in the process, and then scanned him for good measure. “All clean,” the guard told May as he handed over Clint’s phone.

May glanced down at the phone, then looked at one of the other guards and inclined her head in silent communication. A moment later Clint’s bag and bow case were carefully deposited at his feet. Clint gave the guard a look, but the guard merely looked back, unfazed.

“My boxers better not be missing,” Clint said. He pointed to his own eyes with two fingers, then to the guard in the universal ‘I’m watching you’ gesture.

The guard didn’t react, but Bobbi and May both rolled their eyes. Which was just the reaction Clint was hoping for. Infiltrating the base would be easier if they underestimated him.

May and Bobbi led the way to a set of blast resistant doors that slid open at their approach. Clint shouldered his bag, picked up his bow case, and followed them. The other agents took up positions behind him. They walked down a hallway to an elevator concealed behind a brick wall. Clint took in as much of the base as he could without being obvious about it.

Bobbi stepped to the back of the elevator while May stayed up front near the control panel. Clint stood in the middle of the car, and it did not at all give him the heebie-jeebies to turn his back on Bobbi.

“Coffee black,” May said to the guard who stood at the head of the squad, and he gave a short nod of his head in understanding.

It must’ve been some kind of coded message, but Clint said, “Ooh, I like coffee if they’re making a run. With a little caramel?”

May gave him a look as she pressed one of the buttons on the panel. The doors slid shut, closing them off from the guards, and then the car began moving down. Clint wasn’t in, not yet, but at least they hadn’t shot him on sight. Not that Phil thought they would, or he wouldn’t have sent Clint in.

Clint smiled.

“What?” Bobbi said.

Clint wasn’t even surprised that she’d somehow seen the smile. “This reminds me of the first time I joined SHIELD,” he said. “Minus the bullet in the leg.”

“I could take care of that for you if you like,” May said dryly.

“Pass,” Clint said. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Anytime.”

When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, the three of them stepped out into a hallway that wasn’t deserted, exactly, but it wasn’t the bustling activity he was used to at the Triskelion. No one gave them a second look. May led them into an office. Another agent was already inside. She was studying a map that was on a screen so large that it took up nearly all of one wall.

“Agent May,” the agent said, turning. Her face did something almost comical when she realized that May wasn’t alone.

“Hold that thought,” May told her, and she nodded. Her eyes darted between the three of them, and she wrung her hands.

“Sit,” May told Clint.

“Not a dog,” Clint said, but he walked over to the nearest chair, set his gear on the floor beside it, and then sat down.

“I’m going to check in,” Bobbi told May.

Which Clint guessed meant she was going to inform Agent Gonzales of the latest development. Namely, Clint. While Bobbi and May were distracted, and Simmons’ gaze was on the two of them, he quickly reached beneath the chair and pressed a listening device to the bottom of the seat.

May nodded, then shut the door behind Bobbi after she left. “Barton,” May said, her mouth twisting as if she’d tasted something sour. “This is Agent Simmons. Simmons, Clint Barton.”

Simmons’ expression went from one of confusion to polite interest. “Mr. Barton, it’s a pleasure to . . . Oh! You’re Hawkeye! Oh my gosh, Fitz is going to wet his pants when he meets you! Not literally,” Simmons assured Clint. “He’ll just be very excited. He helped design your grappling arrow.”

“Simmons,” May cautioned.

“Sorry,” Simmons said. “I’m babbling.”

Clint stood and held his hand out to Simmons. She looked at it a moment, as if she was unsure how to react, and then she slid her smaller hand into his. Simmons was right about one thing, Fitz had geeked out a little bit when he realized that not only Mike Peterson was on the Quinjet with Phil, but also Hawkeye. Or rather, the farmer formerly known as Hawkeye.

“Agent Simmons,” Clint said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And I look forward to meeting Agent Fitz, as well.”

“Oh,” Simmons said, looking sad. “Fitz isn’t here right now.”

“Maybe later, then,” Clint said. He tapped his index finger against the inside of her wrist before pulling his hand back.

“Yes, of course,” Simmons said with forced cheer. A frown line appeared between her eyes as she searched his face.

“Simmons,” May said, drawing Simmons’ attention away from Clint.

“Yes, Agent May?”

“Any luck?”

Simmons’ face screwed up a little bit. “Not yet.”

“Keep working on it,” May said. “In the meantime, take a look at this.” May handed Clint’s phone to Simmons.

“Of course,” Simmons said as she took the phone, and then she left the office, closing the door gently behind her, but not before leveling a searching look at Clint.

“What are you doing here?” May said as soon as they were alone.

“I told you why I’m here,” Clint said. He didn’t stand at attention, but he didn’t return to his slouch in the chair, either. “Are you in charge here?” he asked, indicating the large desk.

May didn’t look away from him. “For now,” she finally said. “How did you find us?”

“I told you . . . ,” Clint began.

“Widow?” May guessed.

“I know other people,” Clint blustered.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “She doesn’t tell me,” he went on at May’s skeptical expression. “And I don’t ask. And you have to know that I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know.”

May’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally at that. She moved over to lean against the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve been out of SHIELD for a while,” May said. “Why come back now?”

“I didn’t leave SHIELD because I lost faith in its purpose,” Clint said. It wasn’t even a lie. His loss of faith came later.

“Why did you leave?” May said.

“You have to ask?”

May’s only answer was an unwavering stare.

Clint took a deep breath before answering. “There were a lot of agents who didn’t trust me after . . . New York.” A euphemism for ‘that time I was brainwashed by Loki and led an attack on the Helicarrier, killing a lot of good agents.’

“It was difficult to go out on ops with agents who had to request me because I was the best, but who were afraid to turn their backs on me. Fury sent Nat and me out on some missions alone.” Clint paused. “But I missed Coulson’s voice in my ear. And I felt guilty, is that what you want to hear?”

Clint watched May closely, but her expression gave nothing away.

“You could’ve stayed with SHIELD, got out of the field,” May said.

Clint barked out a startled laugh at that. “Seriously? Can you really see me pushing paper?”

“You could’ve run ops,” May said.

Clint sobered quickly. “No,” he said. “There was too much . . .” He sighed. “There was too much.”

“So instead you retired to a farm?” May said.

“You kept tabs on me,” Clint said.

He got another stare.

“It kept me busy,” Clint said. “Hard, back breaking work that let me fall into bed at night and sleep without dreaming. Mostly. Plus, we had a litter of kittens one year.”

“We?” May said.

“Me, Clover. She just had a calf. I’ve got pictures. I’ll show them to you when I get my phone back.”

“I don’t want to see photos of your cow and her calf,” May said.

Clint opened his mouth.

“Or kittens.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Clint said. “Bet Bobbi’d want to see them.”

“See what?” Bobbi said, giving Clint the stink eye for having heard her come in.

“Pictures,” Clint said. “Of kittens.”

Bobbi’s eyes lit up, but then she dropped a mask over them. “No, thanks. You are right about one thing, though.”

“Just one?”

Bobbi ignored that. “We could use Hawkeye’s help.”

Clint nodded.

“We’ve assigned you a guard to show you around,” Bobbi said.

“And to keep an eye on me?”

“A lot has changed since you left SHIELD,” Bobbi said. “Trust comes a lot harder now.”

“So, right back where I was when I left,” Clint said. “No, I get it. At least this time it’s not personal.”

“Oh, it’s partly personal,” Bobbi said with surprising forthrightness, which startled a laugh out of Clint.

“You always did hold a grudge, Bobbi. But at least you’re honest about it.”

“Don’t forget it,” Bobbi said with a smile that reminded Clint of a shark. She gestured towards the door and a guard stepped into the office. “Agent Markham will show you around.”

Clint huffed a laugh when he saw that the guard assigned to watch him was the same guard who’d searched his bag, and whom Clint had jokingly said _he’d_ keep an eye on.

“Irony isn’t lost on you, is it?” Clint said to Bobbi. To Markham, he said, “So we meet again, Agent Markham.”

The corner of Markham’s eye twitched. Bobbi pursed her lips in annoyance, an expression Clint was all too familiar with. May was the only person Clint couldn’t read. She was either hiding something behind her annoyance, or she was actually pretty annoyed.

“Are we done here?” Clint asked.

“For now,” May said.

Clint nodded, then bent to pick up his bag. He slung the strap over his shoulder and picked up the case. “Any place in particular you want me to stow my bow?”

“Agent Markham will show you where the armory is,” May said.

Markham nodded, then gestured for Clint to precede him out of the office. Clint pushed down the annoyance he felt at being ordered around by someone who wouldn’t even speak to him. He inclined his head at May, and then Bobbi, and then walked out of the office. “So, the armory?”

Markham indicated the direction they should go, and Clint started walking. He made note of the lab when they passed it. Markham swiped a card at the armory and Clint found a place to set his bow case where it would be out of the way. Just as silently Markham led Clint to his assigned quarters, a room that held a bed and a chest of drawers and little else.

“Bathroom?” Clint asked as he set his bag on the thin mattress.

Markham’s jaw worked, but he said, “The communal bathroom is down the hall.”

“Excellent!” Clint said. “I need to make a pit stop before you take me on the rest of the tour.”

Markham showed Clint where the men’s communal bathroom was and waited outside. Clint made sure that the toilets and showers were empty, and then went to the third sink from the end. He squatted down so he could look under the sink. The package Phil had hidden there after the incident at Providence was still duct taped into the hollow area between the bowl and the rim.

Clint pulled the plastic baggie away from the sink and opened it – there was a Glock19 and two magazines, a Gerber Mark II, and, more importantly for Clint’s purposes, a swipe card. Clint stuffed the card in his boot and replaced the package under the sink. He didn’t want to be caught with unauthorized weapons, and if he needed them later, he knew where to find them.

Clint took a piss and washed his hands, and found Markham in the hallway outside, a deeper scowl lining his face, if that was even possible.

The rest of the ‘tour’ consisted of Markham telling Clint where he _couldn’t_ go, and then depositing him in a lounge area. It was empty, which would’ve set off alarm bells even if Phil hadn’t filled Clint in on the SHIELD 2.0 and their takeover of the base. No one probably felt like relaxing, even if they had the time for it.

Clint sat down on the couch and turned on the television. “Want to watch anything in particular?” he asked Markham.

Unsurprisingly, there was no reply. Clint found a station that was playing ‘Ferris Beuler’s Day Off’ and left it there. He settled into the couch and didn’t even have to fake the yawn. He hadn’t gotten much sleep from the moment Phil had re-entered his life. Clint pushed thoughts of Phil down and reached up to rub the side of his head, using the move as cover to place an earbud in his ear.

Clint closed his eyes and pretended to drift off while he listened in on the bug he’d left in May’s office. He’d missed whatever conversation had transpired between May and Bobbi right after he’d left, but he tuned in now just in time to hear Agent Simmons confess to May that she’d replaced the Toolbox with a duplicate and given the original to Fitz.

Both agents left the room after May assured Simmons that she’d ‘handle it,’ and Clint was left to contemplate how he was going to get ears in the lab. Before Clint had come up with a solution, someone else entered the lounge. Since he was pretending to doze off, Clint didn’t react.

The person moved further into the lounge and Clint cracked his eyes as if he was loathe to open them all the way. He recognized Agent Alphonso Mackenzie from Phil’s description and raised his hand to sketch a wave.

“Hey,” Mackenzie said. “You must be Barton.”

“Because I’m the new guy?”

“Because you’re the only new guy I’ve heard of today,” Mackenzie said.

“Get a lot of ‘em, do you?”

“You’d be surprised.

“Not really,” Clint said. “Everyone wants something to believe in.”

Mackenzie tilted his head in acknowledgment of that. “I’m Mack, by the way. Alphonso Mackenzie, but my friends just call me Mack.”

“Clint Barton,” Clint said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m kinda surprised you’re talking to me, though,” he added.

Mack looked confused. “Why?”

Clint gestured towards Markham, who still stood over by the doorway. “Agent Markham’s giving me the silent treatment.”

“Ah,” Mack said as he glanced at Markham. “He lost people on the Helicarrier,” he added softly.

Clint thought he’d gotten used to the way those words felt like a blow, but Phil coming back must’ve uncovered some of his soft spots again. “So did I,” Clint said, and ignored the surprised, then understanding expressions on Mack’s face.

“So, what brings you back to SHIELD?”

“Seemed like I might be more of a help than a hindrance now. That might not be as universal a truth as I thought.”

“Why now?” Mack said.

It didn’t sound like an interrogation – just two guys chatting – but Clint knew that’s exactly what it was.

“Look, Mack,” Clint said. “I might be fucked up, but I don’t know you well enough to spill my guts to you, so you’re either going to have to get me really drunk, or we’re going to have to get to know each other a hell of a lot better if you want me to answer that.”

Mack laughed. “Understood, man. Well, we’re all out of beer, so . . .”

His response surprised a laugh out of Clint. “You’re alright, Mack.”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Mack said. “I just wanted to stop by to welcome you back to SHIELD.”

“Thanks,” Clint said. “I’ll be right here waiting for my probationary period to be over.”

“I’m sure it won’t be long,” Mack said. “We need good men.”

Mack left and Clint went back to pretending to sleep. He didn’t jump when he heard Agent Gonzales’ voice in his ear, but only because he’d been expecting him to show up eventually.

“Agent May,” Gonzales said.

“Agent Gonzales. What can I do for you?”

“I hear we’ve got a new recruit.”

“I wouldn’t call Barton ‘new’,” May said.

“What do you think about him?”

“I think he was the best at what he did,” May said.

“Was?”

“He’s been out of SHIELD for a while.”

Clint pictured Gonzales’ nod in acknowledgment. “He worked closely with Coulson,” Gonzales said.

“Yes.”

A silence fell, and Clint could well imagine the seemingly placid expression on May’s face that gave nothing away as she waited for Gonzales to actually say what was on his mind. The silence grew until Gonzales finally broke it.

“I find it interesting that Agent Barton has returned to the fold now,” Gonzales said.

“If you think it’s because of Coulson, Barton, like most of SHIELD, was unaware of his return,” May said.

“Do you trust him?” Gonzales asked baldly.

“I believe he was a good agent,” May said. “I know that Coulson trusted him.”

Clint’s throat closed up at the unexpected swell of emotion at that simple comment. Just not enough to tell me you were alive, you bastard! he thought bitterly.

“Qualify him on the range,” Gonzales said. “If he’s even half as good as he used to be, we can use him, and we need as many agents as we can get in the field.”

“Yes, sir,” May said. A moment later May activated her comm and said, ”Agent Markham, please take Barton to the armory to retrieve his bow. Check out a rifle and a handgun, as well as the necessary ammunition. Have him meet me at the range.”

Markham acknowledged the order, then relayed it to Clint who pretended that he hadn’t already heard it from May’s end. Clint jumped to his feet. His excitement at having something to do wasn’t faked. He hated waiting and doing nothing. The irony that his job was nothing but hurry up and wait wasn’t lost on him.

Clint retrieved his bow case (and removed the earbud) while Markham picked out a Colt M4, a M9 Beretta, and two boxes of ammo. Markham just gave Clint a look when he offered to help carry some of the items, since he had a hand free. The range was on the same level as the armory, and the walk there was made in silence.

May wasn’t there, yet, so Clint took a moment to study the range with appreciation. There were half a dozen lanes, plus a seventh set up specifically for an archer. He set his case on the low counter at the back of the range and opened it. Markham didn’t say anything while Clint assembled his bow and filled the quiver with a dozen arrows, merely set the weapons and ammunition he’d brought onto the same counter and then stood silently and waited for May to arrive.

“Barton,” May said when she appeared in the doorway.

“Agent May,” Clint said.

May indicated the far lane. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Clint stepped up to the lane. He set a paper target against the 3D target and then turned back to May. “Speed or accuracy?” he asked, just to see what she’d say.

“I was led to believe you could handle both,” May said.

Clint grinned. He raised his bow into position, sighted, and emptied his quiver in a matter of seconds. Clint set his bow down and walked to the end of the lane to retrieve his arrows. He brought back the paper target for May to examine.

May took in the holes in the paper that made a smiley face. She gave Clint an unimpressed look. “Let’s see how you do with the rifle.”

~*~*~*~

After Clint cleaned the weapons and checked them back into the armory he was taken to May’s office. On the way they passed the lab where Simmons was working at a computer. She glanced up and Clint raised his hand to wave. With a confused frown, Simmons waved back.

Markham knocked on the office door and opened it when May said, “Come in.” He stayed outside in the hallway when Clint entered.

“Close the door,” May said. As soon as the door was shut, she continued. “You scored high marks on all three weapons.”

It wasn’t a question, so Clint didn’t respond, though he’d previously have been inclined to make a smart remark.

“Finding agents still loyal to SHIELD has been difficult,” May said. “And then you fell into our lap.”

It still wasn’t a question, but it was more difficult for Clint to bite his tongue this time.

“Do you know why you’re here?” May said.

“Do you mean why I came, or why you let me stay instead of shooting me in the head and disposing of my body?”

“The answer’s the same to both, I think,” May said.

“And what’s that?” Clint said, ignoring the shiver that went down his spine.

“Coulson,” May said.

“Coulson’s dead,’ Clint said. “And I don’t feel like I owe him anything.”

“Don’t you?”

Clint tried to remember what it had felt like before he’d learned that Coulson was alive. The pain and guilt of his death, rather than the deep hurt that he’d gone on with his life without Clint. He couldn’t quite get there, but he hoped it was enough for one word. “No.”

“If we had the time and the personnel you’d get a psych consult before I put you back out in the field.”

“I’ve had plenty of those,” Clint said. “In fact, I think my records are out on the internet somewhere,” he added, trying not to sound too bitter about that. Clint shook himself. “Anyway,” he said, “if you’re clearing me for field work, does that mean I don’t need the congenial Agent Markham keeping an eye on me anymore?”

“You and Markham not getting along?” May said.

Clint couldn’t see it in her expression, but he thought he caught a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Apparently he’s not a fan,” Clint said lightly, trying not to let it trigger the memories of the weeks before he left SHIELD.

“Funny you should mention that,” May said. She walked over and opened the door. “Agent Koenig, please come in.”

“Thank you, Agent May,” Koenig said. He stepped over to Clint, his hand extended. “Agent Billy Koenig,” Koenig said as he took Clint’s hand in his for a vigorous shake. “And you’re Hawkeye, of course. I’m a huge fan of your work. I heard rumors that you were on base, and I’m pleased to see that they turned out to be true. Agent May asked me to put you through orientation so we can get you set up with a lanyard. If you’ll follow me?”

“Orientation,” Clint said, his brain overwhelmed by the sheer presence of Agent Billy Koenig. Phil had forgotten to mention that part. He glanced at May as he followed Koenig out of the office. She smirked back at him.

“Have fun.”

Clint gave May a grimace that promised retribution. He followed Koenig down the hall to a small room where a machine that resembled a lie detector sat on a table. Koenig closed the door and gestured Clint to a chair on one side of the table.

Before he sat, Clint said, “Override, Bravo, Echo, Zulu, 3-20-10.”

Koenig froze and looked at Clint with new eyes. “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.”

“Sierra, Victor, Charlie,” Clint replied.

“What are my orders?” Koenig said.

“The Director sent you a message Protocol Delta,” Clint said.

“I don’t have security clearance for that . . . ,” Koenig began.

Clint knew that Koenig could access anything on the base no matter the security level, but he bent down and retrieved the swipe card from his boot. Koenig looked at it for a second, then plucked it from Clint’s fingers and inserted it into the computer console. A few seconds of typing later, Koenig opened the message.

Clint didn’t look over while the message played; it was hard enough to hear Phil’s voice, he couldn’t look at his face.

“Agent Koenig,” Phil’s recorded voice said. “If you’re watching this message, then Mr. Barton has made it safely on base. Until I can return, you are to assist Mr. Barton in any manner he requires.”

Clint still couldn’t believe that Phil had given him unlimited control just like that.

There was a pause before Phil said, “Oh, right, crap. There’s a security question I’m supposed to answer. Fitz, what’s my security question?”

“Grand Ward is a dick, yes or no?” Fitz said immediately.

“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure that’s not it. Did you change my security question? Because I think I’d remember that one,” Phil said.

Clint almost smiled when he remembered the genuine puzzlement on Phil’s face during that exchange. It faded when he remembered the gut punch of Phil turning back to the camera and saying, “I remember which question I chose. The answer’s Portland.”

“We’ll be in touch when we can,” Phil continued, ending the message.

Koenig turned to Clint. “That was Director Coulson, alright. And Portland is the correct answer. I wonder what his question was?”

Clint knew. What he didn’t know was whether he wanted to hug Phil or punch him, because Portland was where they got married on March 20, 2010 after they’d had three missions in a row where one of them had gotten hurt or been off comms for a heart-stoppingly long time and Phil had finally decided that there wouldn’t be a ‘perfect’ time and so he’d asked a dusty and bloody Clint to marry him.

Koenig did whatever he had to do to back out of the Level 10 communication system. When he was finished he handed the swipe card back to Clint.

“Director Coulson told me that the magnetic strip on his card no longer worked,” Koenig said. “And he assured me that it had been destroyed. Which is the only reason that I issued a new one without destroying the old one myself.”

“The Director likes to think a couple steps ahead,” Clint said.

“He knew something like this might happen,” Koenig said, impressed.

“He wanted to be prepared after what happened in Providence.”

“Eric,” Koenig said sadly.

“Though if he expected an attack on the base, I’m pretty sure he thought it would be HYDRA rather than another SHIELD faction,” Clint said wryly.

While they’d been talking, Koenig prepared Clint’s lanyard. He held it out to him with an apologetic expression. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to remain in this room for at least a half hour for this ruse to be believable. Orientation can take at least that long, and to be honest, in your case it might’ve taken longer. No offense,” Koenig said.

“None taken,” Clint said dryly.

Silence fell, broken only by Clint tapping out a rhythm on his leg.

“We could play a game of chess while we wait,” Koenig suggested.

“Sure,” Clint agreed, and couldn’t hide his surprise when Koenig pulled up a holographic board. “Cool.”

Koenig gave Clint the white pieces, and so he made the first move.

“You know, I still haven’t gotten my phone back, or I’d show you pictures of my kittens.”

“Kittens?” Koenig said, interested.

“And a week old calf,” Clint said. “Philomena.”

~*~*~*~

Koenig went to May’s office to deliver his ‘report,’ and Clint wandered down the hall with his new lanyard. Simmons was still in the lab, so Clint went inside.

“Hey, Agent Simmons,” Clint said.

Simmons looked up, kind of wide-eyed. “Agent . . . I mean Mr. Barton, what can I do for you?”

Clint held up his lanyard. “I’m legal and everything.”

Simmons gave him a weak smile.

“I was wondering if you’re done with my phone?”

“Oh, of course! I’m so sorry for keeping it for so long.”

“That’s okay,” Clint said. “I just promised Koenig that I’d show him photos of the kittens.”

“Oh, kittens,” Simmons said.

“Did you see them?” Clint asked.

“Oh, no,” Simmons said. “I didn’t invade your privacy any more than I had to. I just made sure there weren’t any surveillance programs loaded on there. HYDRA trying to sneak in through a backdoor, that sort of thing. Spyware, haha! Anyway, it’s clean.”

“Thank goodness,” Clint said.

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well,” Clint said. “I think I’m going to get something to eat. Care to join me?”

“I would love to,” Simmons said with genuine feeling, “but I’m right in the middle of something.”

“Maybe another time,” Clint said. “I hope they have some prosciutto in the fridge.”

“What?” Simmons said.

“Prosciutto and mozzarella,” Clint said. “With just a hint of pesto aioli. It’s my favorite.”

Clint left the lab without saying anything else. He expected that Simmons would follow him soon, and it was just as well that they didn’t leave the lab together.

Clint was trying to decide between a burger or a salad, and had just decided to eat the salad while the burger broiled, when Simmons entered the kitchen.

“We’re all out of prosciutto, I’m afraid,” she said. “I used the last of it the other day.”

Clint smiled at her over his shoulder. “That’s alright, a burger’s fine.”

“Have you seen him?” Simmons asked hopefully.

“Why don’t I show you some pictures,” Clint said. He stepped closer to Simmons. There wasn’t supposed to be surveillance in the kitchen according to both Phil and Fitz, but Clint wanted to play it safe.

“Is he alright?” Simmons said.

“Agent Fitz is fine,” Clint said as he opened the photo gallery on his phone.

“Did he make it to Director Coulson, then? Or did Agent Gonzales’ men snatch him up?”

“If Gonzales had him, you’d be working on the real Toolbox right now,” Clint said quietly. “This is Clover and her calf,” he said, speaking normally.

“Oh, cute,” Simmons said, then, “How do I know that Director Coulson sent you?”

“Why don’t I send you a copy of this photo,” Clint said. “You can see for yourself.”

Simmons gave Clint her e-mail address and he sent the photo to her. “I’ll come see you after I’ve eaten.”

Simmons nodded, and then left quickly. From what Fitz had said about her, it wouldn’t take her long to find the photo of Fitz, Hunter, Mike, and Phil that Fitz had embedded in the photo of Clover and Philomena.

Clint ate as quickly as he could without it appearing strange. He had a lanyard and no guard assigned to him that he was aware of, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t under some sort of observation.

When Clint stepped into the lab, Simmons did something with her mouse, then raised her head and gave him a falsely bright smile. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, and then switched her screen back.

“You should delete that,” Clint said.

“I know,” Simmons said. She reached out and touched the screen. “I was worried about him.”

“He did good,” Clint said.

Simmons’ smile was wide and genuine. “Fitz is capable of so much more than he’s aware.”

She sighed, and then went to work deleting all trace of the photo and the e-mail from the servers.

“What are you working on?” Clint said when the screen switched back.

“I’m trying to access Mike Peterson’s hardware. Agent May wants me to tap into his feed. You should get some sleep,” Simmons added when Clint yawned.

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. Simmons was right, but Clint didn’t know whether sleep was possible, and not just because he was undercover. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Phil. “Not sure if I can,” he told Simmons.

“You should at least try. Coulson and Fitz are going to need you at your best.”

Clint snorted at the idea of Phil needing him. “Yeah.”

“Go on,” Simmons said gently. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Yeah, alright,” Clint said. It wasn’t as if him sitting there was going to get results any faster. “Hey,” he said when he reached the door. “You, too,” Clint said when Simmons’ glanced up at him.

She smiled and said, “I will,” but Clint couldn’t tell if she was lying.

Clint’s body was exhausted, but his mind was swirling. Instead of going back to the quarters he’d been assigned and staring at the ceiling, he wandered the halls. Agents were still working and guards patrolled the hallways, so he made sure the lanyard Koenig had given him was visible outside his t-shirt.

Phil had given him an idea of the layout of the base, but Clint wanted to map it out himself, and now that he had lost his shadow he could do so without raising suspicion.

While he was exploring, Clint came across the gym. It was empty – not that he knew anyone on base well enough to ask them to spar with him – but a punching bag hung in one corner. After he’d walked as much of the base as he could without breaking out the Level 10 swipe card, Clint returned to the gym.

He took off his boots and socks, slipped the card beneath the insole of his left boot, and shoved them beneath the bench. He found the tape and wrapped his hands, and then took a few warm up shots at the bag.

When May found him, Clint was loose and his muscles were sore with the pleasant ache that let you know you’d given them a work out. Clint wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Agent May.”

“Barton,” May said as she stepped further into the gym. “You up for sparring?”

Clint’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”

“Unless you don’t think you can handle it,” May said.

“Oh, I can handle it,” Clint said.

“I don’t know,” May said as she pulled off her sweatshirt. “Three years out of SHIELD is a long time.”

“Clover wasn’t exactly a pushover,” Clint said.

May didn’t laugh, but the corner of her mouth did twitch upward, which Clint thought for her might be the equivalent of someone else’s ‘LOL.’

Clint did some stretches while May taped up her hands so his muscles stayed warm. She met him in the middle of the mat. There was no ‘ready, set, go.’ May led with her right, which caught Clint’s shoulder as he spun away. He caught the foot she aimed at his head and threw her back, which gave him a second to recover.

Clint smiled as May regained her balance and came at him, and silently thanked Natasha for the innumerous beat downs he’d experienced at her hands.

~*~*~*~

May exited the lab and headed away from him down the hallway as Clint approached the lab from the other direction. Simmons turned a glare on him when he stepped in the doorway, and then deflated when she realized it was Clint.

“Sorry,” Simmons said. “I thought you were . . . someone else. What can I do for you?” she asked with forced cheerfulness.

Clint held up one of the mugs he carried. “I brought you tea. And a muffin, because I figured you skipped breakfast.”

Simmons’ smile was more genuine this time. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Clint said as he handed off a mug and the small plate on which the muffin sat.

Clint noticed that Simmons was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. It might not mean anything, given the fact that she probably didn’t get out shopping much and the laundry facilities (at least the ones he found) and storage left something to be desired, but he asked, “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Not really,” Simmons said. She took a sip of the tea and broke off a piece of muffin.

“Everything alright?” Clint asked.

“Of course,” Simmons said, then the cheerful mask fell. “No, not really.”

“Did you want to tell May?” Clint asked, not knowing what he’d say if she said ‘yes.’ But she surprised him by saying, “No, I don’t think I do.”

“It’s hard,” Clint said, “when you don’t know who you can trust.”

“I thought I could trust Agent May, but . . . Yes,” Simmons agreed.

“Well,” Clint said. “I should let you get back to it.”

“Alright,” Simmons said. “Thank you. For the tea. And the muffin.”

Clint smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Clint’s explorations this morning took him to the surface, rather than deeper underground. He ended up in the hangar where Mack was elbow deep in grease.

“Hey,” Clint said.

Mack looked away from the SUV he was servicing. “Hey.” He ducked back under the hood. “You leaving already?”

Clint huffed. “After everything I went through to get this lanyard? Nah, I’ll stick around for a little while.”

Mack glanced at the lanyard lying against Clint’s chest, then up to his face. “Met Agent Koenig?”

“He’s awfully . . . perky when he informs you that he won’t hesitate to shoot you if you don’t answer all his questions satisfactorily,” Clint said.

Mack laughed. “Yeah, I think he does it to scare people into answering honestly.”

“You don’t think he’d really do it?”

“Oh, no, he’d definitely do it,” Mack said, and then they both laughed.

Mack agreed to let Clint stick around if he handed him tools, so Clint put down his cold mug of coffee and prepared to get his hands dirty. It reminded him of being back on the farm, repairing the old John Deere that kept breaking down, but that he’d refused to replace because he and Phil had picked it out together one weekend they’d spent on the farm. Besides, Mack was one of the people Clint still needed to get a fix on.

Clint was still with Mack when Bobbi came to get him for a meeting with May. Mack wiped off his hands on a rag and gave Clint an apologetic look.

“We’ll pick this up later,” Mack said.

“I look forward to it,” Clint replied.

He waited for Bobbi and Mack to leave the hangar for the elevator before inserting the earbud and heading for the stairs. He glanced in the lab as he passed, but it was empty, so Simmons was probably in the meeting with the others. Clint carried his mug to the kitchen and washed it. Then he wiped down the tables and counters. Then he cleaned out the microwave. At least if he looked like his mind wasn’t on his tasks, no one would be surprised.

Clint jerked in surprise when he heard Skye’s name, but no one mentioned Phil, so he either hadn’t found her yet, or Skye was keeping that fact to herself.

Clint waited until Bobbi said, “Mack and I can take a team, go get them,” and May’s, “Do it,” in response before rinsing out the rag he’d used and hanging it over the edge of the sink to dry. As he approached the office, Bobbi and Mack were headed in the opposite direction down the hallway, towards the elevator. A moment later Simmons appeared. She gave Clint a look before disappearing back into the lab.

Clint continued on to the office. He knocked on the doorjamb before poking his head in. “What’s going on?”

“What makes you think anything’s going on?” May said.

“I just saw Mack and Bobbi in the hallway. Looked like they were in a hurry.”

May gave Clint a long look, then said, “It doesn’t concern you,” and turned back to the file boxes sitting on her desk.

Clint left May’s office without saying anything else. He found Simmons in the lab. He gave her a wordless nod and glanced around to make sure they were alone. “What’s going on?”

“It’s good news, I think,” Simmons said. “Skye called.”

“She coming in?” Clint asked.

“It didn’t sound like she planned to,” Simmons said, “but Bobbi and Mack have gone to pick her up.” She looked more closely at Clint. “What’s wrong?”

“Skye,” Clint said. “Coulson’s looking for her.”

“Well, I hope he finds her before they do,” Simmons said. “I’m pretty sure they want to lock her up somewhere”

“And you don’t?” Clint asked gently.

“No,” Simmons said. “Skye’s my friend.”

“Her powers don’t scare you?”

Simmons shrugged. “A little bit. But she just needs to learn how to control them.”

Clint nodded. “Don’t worry, Coulson won’t let her get locked up.”

Simmons started to say something, then hesitated.

“What?” Clint pressed.

“You worked with him before, right? Director Coulson, I mean, before . . . T.A.H.I.T.I.”

Clint swallowed hard. “Yes, why?”

“He’s a good man,” Simmons said.

It wasn’t a question, so Clint just waited for her to organize her thoughts.

“I know that we’re not told everything,” Simmons finally went on. “That there are secrets.”

“We’re spies in a secret organization,” Clint said. “They tell us what they think we need to know to get the job done. Usually it’s enough.”

“What do you do when it’s not?”

“Then you have to make a choice,” Clint said.

“Is that what you did?”

Clint huffed a humorless laugh. “No. I left SHIELD before I even knew about the secret that would’ve put me in the position of having to choose.”

“Coulson?” Simmons guessed.

Clint didn’t answer, just tapped his knuckles on the desk top. “Call me if you find out anything.”

“I will,” Simmons said.

Clint stopped at the door, looked back over his shoulder. “Come find me if you need to talk.”

~*~*~*~

Clint checked out his bow and went down to the range. There was no one there, which Clint would’ve thought strange three years ago, but with SHIELD’s numbers being a fraction of what they once were, thanks to some of them being HYDRA spies, or killed by HYDRA spies, or in hiding from HYDRA spies, Clint figured it wasn’t all that strange.

Clint set up, and then he cleared his mind and lost himself in the rhythmic load and release until his quiver was empty. He retrieved his arrows and did it all over again.

Someone stepped into the range. Clint glanced over just long enough to make sure they weren’t a threat, and then continued shooting. Another agent showed up, and another. It had been a while since Clint had an audience when he practiced, aside from his kids at the Y, but he was able to push them to the back of his mind and concentrate on the way the bow felt in his hand and the warmth in his muscles with each release.

Clint didn’t know how long he’d been at it when he finally lowered his bow and collected his arrows for the final time. He stowed everything in his case and then turned towards the door. Half a dozen agents stood there, some looking a bit sheepish now that they’d been caught watching him.

“Hawkeye,” someone said, and Clint waited for the insults, the anger. Instead, the voice said, “Impressive shooting.”

“Thanks,” Clint said.

As if that exchange broke the dam, the others all said something similar. Clint thanked them all, and then left. He shook his head as he walked down the hallway. If there had been anyone on base who hadn’t yet heard of his arrival yesterday, they’d all hear the news that Hawkeye was back at SHIELD now.

Clint returned his bow to the armory, then washed up. He stopped by the kitchen to throw together a sandwich, and that’s where Simmons found him. She appeared agitated, but because they weren’t alone, Clint just said, “Want a sandwich?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know!”

Clint made a second sandwich. He grabbed two small bags of chips and said, “Get us something to drink.”

Simmons grabbed two cans out of the cooler.

“Is there someplace we can eat and talk?”

Simmons led the way out of the kitchen. They ended up on a catwalk above the hangar.

“People rarely look up,” Simmons said as they got settled, sitting with their legs hanging over the edge.

Clint handed one of the sandwiches and bags of chips to Simmons, and she gave him one of the sodas. Clint waited until they’d both taken a bite and swallowed it before speaking.

“What’s wrong? Still can’t access Mike’s feed?”

“No,” Simmons said. “I managed to tap into his feed. It’s what I saw that’s bothering me.”

“What did you see?” Clint asked, tensing up.

“Coulson,” Simmons said.

“Was he alright?” Clint said, trying to sound cool.

“Oh, yes, he was perfectly fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s who he was with,” Simmons said.

“Ahh,” Clint said at the same time Simmons said, “Grant Ward.”

“Coulson did say he’d have to make a deal with the devil,” Clint said.

“But why?” Simmons said. “I mean, after everything that Ward has done . . .”

Clint gave Simmons a hard look. Both Phil and Fitz had assured Clint that he could trust Simmons, and he’d trusted her this far. “To help him infiltrate HYDRA,” Clint said.

Simmons’ mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘O,’ but she recovered quickly. “Why would he want to do that?”

“He thought HYDRA might have Skye, and other enhanced people,” Clint said. “Though if she was able to call you, they probably don’t have her. Do you know where she was?”

“I was able to trace her call to Milwaukee,” Simmons said.

That was . . . a surprise. Strucker was supposedly in Eastern Europe. “What the hell was she doing in Milwaukee?” Clint said.

“I don’t know,” Simmons said. “She said something about Cal. Her father.”

Clint wondered if he should attempt to call Phil, let him know about Skye being in Milwaukee and, presumably, not in HYDRA’s hands.

“He shouldn’t trust Ward,” Simmons said.

Clint looked at her. “He doesn’t.”

“What does he expect to gain from . . .”

“His HYDRA contacts,” Clint said. “Don’t worry, Coulson won’t let anything happen to Fitz.”

“I’m not . . . ,” Simmons began, then, “Fine, I’m a little bit concerned about Fitz.”

“Fitz will be fine.” Clint balled up the empty chip bag. “Do you need to get back to monitor Mike’s feed?”

“We lost the feed,” Simmons admitted.

“What?” Clint said.

“I think he was just unconscious,” Simmons said. “I’ve been trying to contact him. Until he wakes up we can’t do anything.”

“Was he still with Coulson?”

“There’s no way to tell,” Simmons said.

Clint nodded. Of course there wasn’t.

“Is everything alright?” Simmons asked.

“I hate not knowing what’s going on,” Clint said.

“Join the club,” Simmons said. “Well, I should probably get back. Thanks for letting me rant.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clint walked back with Simmons. He left her at the lab and continued on to the kitchen to dispose of their trash and rinse out the cans before dropping them in the bin with the other returnables.

Clint glanced into the lab when he passed it on the way to May’s office. Simmons stared intently at the screen and didn’t glance up. He didn’t knock on May’s door, just pushed it open and said, “For the love of god, give me something to do before I go crazy.”

May just cocked an eyebrow at him and then went back to her file boxes.

“Filing – on a temporary basis only – is even starting to look good right about now.”

“We wouldn’t want you getting injured,” May said. “We don’t know how a paper cut would affect your ability to shoot your bow.”

“Nobody told me that you have a sense of humor, Agent May.”

“That’s because I don’t,” May said.

Clint threw himself into the chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Killing time.”

“Kill it somewhere else.”

“Actually, I’m glad he’s here,” came a new voice.

Clint rose to his feet. “Agent Gonzales. I didn’t know you were part of the new and improved SHIELD, now with 100% less HYDRA. Sir.”

Gonzales stared at him. Clint had been stared at by the best – Coulson, Fury. Hill. And now May. He didn’t flinch.

“SHIELD could use someone with your skill set, Agent Barton.”

Clint waited a second. “No punchline, sir?”

Gonzales apparently knew how to use a good silence, too.

“Thank you, sir,” Clint said. “But it’s just Barton, I left SHIELD a while ago.”

“But you’re back now,” Gonzales said.

“For better or worse,” Clint said.

“Good,” Gonzales said. “I need to speak with Agent May now.”

Clint knew a dismissal when he heard one. He headed for the kitchen where he could listen in without interruption, but stumbled when Gonzales said, “We’re bringing Coulson in.”

Clint put a hand against the wall to steady himself, and took some deep breaths.

“You captured him?” May said.

“He turned himself in, if you can believe that,” Gonzales said.

“He did what? Why would he do that?”

“I’m curious to find that out myself,” Gonzales said. “Why don’t you bring Agent Barton back in now.”

“What do you want with Barton?”

“I want to know what he knows about Coulson.”

Clint darted into the lab, thankful that the lack of personnel meant that Simmons was still alone. She glanced away from the computer screen and watched Clint lean casually against her desk, giving the impression that he hadn’t just arrived. He popped the earbud out and palmed it. Simmons’ eyes went wide, but she didn’t question him.

“So I took the shot,” Clint said, acting as if he was in the middle of a story. “In the rain _and_ 30mph winds.”

“Did you make it?” Simmons said, giving him a look, but playing along.

“Barton,” May said.

“Of course I made it,” Clint said to Simmons, and gave her a wink before turning to May. “Agent May?”

“Agent Gonzales would like to speak with you.”

“I thought he wanted to speak with you.”

May’s expression didn’t change.

“Agent Gonzales is on the base?” Simmons said.

May’s gaze moved briefly to Simmons before once again pinning Clint. “Barton.”

“I’m coming,” Clint said. He put his hand back as if to push off the table and pressed the earbud into Simmons’ hand. “I’ll see you later,” he told a wide-eyed Simmons before he followed May out of the lab.

Gonzales had changed position, but only so he could lean against the desk and take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Agent Barton, thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Clint didn’t bother saying that it hadn’t sounded like he had a choice in the matter, and he took the chair Gonzales indicated. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“You can tell me about Coulson,” Gonzales said directly.

Clint’s jaw worked. “Coulson’s dead,” he said. He didn’t need to fake his emotional reaction; just thinking about it – Phil’s death, and then the news that he’d been alive the entire time – brought it all rushing back.

“He’s alive,” Gonzales said. He looked at May, who looked like she wasn’t happy about it, but brought up a photo on the large screen taking up one entire wall of her office. It was Phil, with a man Clint recognized from his official photo as Grant Ward. It must’ve been capped from Mike’s feed, the same feed that had upset Simmons.

Clint swallowed hard because Phil looked fucking fantastic in his tac vest, and even more wonderful _alive_ , no matter how hurt and angry Clint was at him for the lies.

“We received this about three hours ago,” Gonzales said.

“Where is he?” Clint said.

“Milwaukee,” Gonzales said.

“Milwaukee,” Clint repeated, glad he was already sitting, and that they thought they’d shocked him with the news of Phil being alive. It meant they didn’t see his surprise that Phil had been in the same city as Skye. He wondered if he’d found her. And what the hell HYDRA was doing in Milwaukee. “What’s he doing in Milwaukee?”

“We aren’t sure,” Gonzales said. “We were hoping that you could tell us something about Coulson.”

“Apparently he’s a lying liar who lies,” Clint said heatedly. It actually felt good to let out some of his real emotion.

“Aside from that,” Gonzales said.

“Who’s in charge here?” Clint said. “Because I thought May was, but the fact that you’re even here, not to mention taking the lead in this questioning, makes it appear that you are. Sir.”

“Neither of us is in charge,” Gonzales said. “We’re part of a council that makes decisions with transparency. There are no secrets in SHIELD, not anymore.”

Clint lowered his eyes and tried to look thoughtful as he considered that. “That really works?” he finally said.

“Surprisingly well,” Gonzales said, “given our disparate personalities.”

“Who else is on this council?”

“Aside from the two of us,” Gonzales began.

Clint managed to hide his surprise that May was on Gonzales’ council. He wondered if Phil was aware of that.

“. . . Agents Morse, Weaver, Calderon, and Oliver.”

Clint knew all this because Hunter had told Phil, and Phil had told him, but he tried to look like it was new to him. Finally he said, “So what’s the story with Coulson?”

“The man in the photo with him is Grant Ward, a former SHIELD agent who was actually working for HYDRA,” Gonzales said.

“Are you saying that Coulson is working for HYDRA?” Clint said.

“No,” Gonzales said, to his credit. “But he’s made some questionable decisions.”

Clint snorted. “What bad decisions?”

Gonzales and May just looked at him.

“Clearly you believe that I have some inside scoop on the way Coulson thinks and you want me to spill the beans. I want to know what he’s done, besides lie to me, to have earned my betrayal.”

“You’re a SHIELD agent,” Gonzales said. “Your loyalty is to SHIELD.”

“Still not an agent,” Clint said. “And that’s funny coming from someone preaching transparency.”

Gonzales nodded, as if to acknowledge Clint’s point. “Tell him,” he said to May.

May glared at Clint. “Coulson went on recruitment trips, supposedly looking for SHIELD agents to bring in. Instead he was gathering people with powers.”

Clint waited a beat. “That’s it?” They both looked surprised at his reaction. Or non-reaction, rather. “You think, what, that Coulson’s collecting people with powers to create an army or something? That maybe he wants to take over the world?”

The notion of Phil sitting on a throne somewhere, making everyone watch ‘Dog Cops’ and ‘Supernanny’, was so funny that it made Clint laugh. The expressions on May’s and Gonzales’ faces made him laugh even harder.

“Oh my god,” Clint said as he tried to collect himself. He wiped tears of laugher out of his eyes. “Thank you for that, because I haven’t laughed that hard in a . . .” His voice cracked. “In a long time.”

Clint swiped at his eyes again, and if the tears he wiped away this time weren’t from laughter, no one had to know that but himself.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you that Coulson died saving the world from Loki, but I will anyway. I’ll also tell you that he’s smart. And not just book smart, but clever. He could see connections where there didn’t appear to be any. He thought outside the box when he had to. And he’s relentless, like a dog with a bone, so if you’ve made an enemy of Coulson, that’s what you need to be most concerned with.”

“We’re not his enemy,” May said.

It did not escape Clint’s notice that Gonzales didn’t back up May’s claim. “You sure that’s how it would come down if you put it to a vote?” he said.

The silence he got in response to that was telling.

“Is that the only reason you let me stay?” Clint said. “Because you thought I could offer insight on Coulson?”

“No,” Gonzales said. “We need your skills, as a strategist as well as a marksman.”

Clint couldn’t detect a lie in the words, and given that they were still rebuilding it was probably true, but that didn’t mean his knowledge of Phil hadn’t been the main draw. He couldn’t complain too much, though, since it had gotten him inside the base where he needed to be.

“That said, we need to know where you stand,” Gonzales said.

“Stand regarding what?”

“Coulson.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“If we ordered you to take him out, would you follow that order?”

May did not look like she was happy with this line of questioning. Or maybe just the fact that Gonzales had entertained the thought.

Clint laughed, even as his heart seized up at the idea of anyone giving such an order. “You’re talking to the guy who brought in Black Widow instead of putting a bullet in her head. If you don’t think I’d hesitate at least long enough to give Coulson a chance to explain his side of things, then you don’t know me very well.”

Gonzales nodded, as if that’s exactly what he’d expected. “I appreciate your forthrightness, Agent Barton.”

Clint bit his tongue on reminding Gonzales that he wasn’t an agent; Gonzales seemed to be making a point with it, so Clint let it slide. “You’re one of very few, then, sir,” he said.

“Well,” Gonzales said. “I have a plane to meet. Agent May, Agent Barton.”

“Agent Gonzales,” May said.

“Sir,” Clint said.

Clint didn’t move until he heard the elevator doors close. He turned to May, who appeared to be waiting for him to say something. “I thought you were his friend.”

“I am his friend,” May said.

“And yet you seem to be part of the ‘Coulson’s gone off the rails’ team.”

“Because he has,” May said.

“And for that you want him dead.”

“I don’t want him dead,” May said, “I just want him to be honest with me.”

“Sounds more like you don’t like being left out of the loop.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not the slightest bit angry.”

“Oh, I’m pissed,” Clint said. “But if I kill Coulson, it will definitely be personal, and not because I think he’s some megalomaniac intent on taking over the world.”

Clint stomped out of the office. His face must’ve still showed his anger when he strode into the lab because Simmons’ eyes went wide.

“Clint?”

Clint looked around the still empty lab as he moved over to Simmons. “He turned himself over to them,” he ground out.

“I heard. But why?” Simmons said.

“I have no freaking idea,” Clint said. That wasn’t part of the plan. At least, not the plan Clint had been told. If Phil was just going to turn himself in, why would he have needed an inside man? Why bother having Clint get into position in the first place?

“What are you thinking?” Simmons said.

“I’m trying to figure out what the hell _he’s_ thinking,” Clint said.

“Good luck with that,” Simmons said wryly, which actually made Clint smile.

The smile dropped off his face. “Do you think they’ll bring him here?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. I think they’d keep him as far away from anyone who might help him as possible.”

“Can you find out?” Clint asked.

“I can try.”

Clint indicated the earbud. “Anything going on in there?”

Simmons shook her head. “It’s quiet.”

~*~*~*~

Clint paced the lab while Simmons tapped at her computer keyboard, until she glared at him. He played Angry Birds on his phone, fully aware of the irony. He ran the halls. He was picking himself up off the mat after Markham landed a lucky hit when his cell phone went off.

Clint looked at the screen, which showed a text from Simmons (he hadn’t given her his number, but he wasn’t surprised that she’d managed to somehow get it) that merely said _!!!_

“Gotta go,” Clint said absently. He jogged back to the lab, taking the stairs instead of the elevator.

“Success,” Simmons said with tempered excitement when Clint appeared in the doorway.

He crossed the lab and leaned over her shoulder. An unconcerned looking Coulson was on her screen. “Where is that?”

“It appears that he’s on the Bus,” Simmons said.

Clint pulled a stool over and sat next to Simmons and just stared at the screen. Phil didn’t look like he’d turned himself in because he’d been cornered; he appeared comfortable, confident, even. As if he was right where he wanted to be.

“Clint,” Simmons said.

When Clint looked away from the screen, Simmons was studying him with a concerned expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure,” Clint said.

Simmons didn’t look convinced. She glanced between Clint and the image of Phil on her screen. “Are you . . . in love with Director Coulson?” she asked, her voice going up at the end.

Clint’s first instinct was to deny it, but he was tired of the lies, too. So fucking tired of them. “Yeah,” he said softly, then more firmly, “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Simmons said. “So when you said killing him would be personal . . .”

Clint grinned. “It would be really personal, yeah.”

Simmons gave Clint a quick one-armed hug and then they both went back to watching the screen until they were interrupted.

“What are you two doing?” May said.

Both Clint and Simmons jerked their heads around guiltily.

“Watching a movie?” Clint nudged Simmons. “I thought you were watching the door.”

“I thought _you_ were!

“Enough with the comedy routine,” May said as she crossed the room.

Clint and Simmons shared a look, but neither bothered trying to hide the screen.

May’s lips tightened when she saw the image of Coulson. “Simmons.”

“Oh, please,” Clint said before Simmons could respond. “Don’t tell me that you don’t want to know what’s going on. For the sake of transparency, of course.”

Before May could respond, the door to Phil’s cell opened and Gonzales stepped inside. Phil turned to face him.

“Robert,” Phil said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is it,” Gonzales said.

“Okay, it’s good to see my Bus, but hey, you look well, too.”

“What an asshole,” Clint said, impressed. It was one of the things Clint loved about him. He felt a stab of pain and shook it off.

Both May and Simmons snorted their agreement. The three of them watched Phil make his pitch to infiltrate the HYDRA base and rescue the prisoners.

“What’s in the cargo hold?” Clint asked when Phil mentioned it.

May’s jaw worked. “I don’t know.”

“So much for no more secrets,” Clint observed.

His jaw dropped in surprise when Phil offered the Toolbox Fitz had smuggled out of the base to Gonzales. Any sound he made was lost in Simmons’, “He’s just _giving_ him the Toolbox? Do you know how quickly and carefully I had to work to duplicate that without getting caught, and then get Fitz up to speed and out of the base with it? And Director Coulson’s just handing it over?”

“He knows how much Gonzales wants to know what’s inside the Toolbox,” May said.

Which meant that Phil really wanted to get inside that HYDRA base if he was willing to use the Toolbox as a bargaining chip.

None of them were surprised when Gonzales contacted May a few minutes later to inform her that the Bus, with Coulson and his team on board, would be landing at the base.

~*~*~*~

Neither Simmons nor Clint were invited to meet the Bus, though no one would have an inkling that Clint had any interest in doing so. They stood in the hallway outside the elevator on the office level waiting for everyone to come down.

“I’m sure everything’s going to be just fine,” Simmons said. “I mean, Director Coulson looked good, didn’t he?”

When Clint didn’t respond, she didn’t speak again. Clint felt bad about shutting her down, but right now all he could think about was Phil. He wanted to know why Phil had turned himself over to Gonzales. He was worried, but underneath it all was the same thread of hurt and anger he’d been dealing with (or rather, not dealing with) for the past six months. He wanted to know what was going on; he needed to make sure that Phil was alright; he wanted to kick Phil’s ass.

Unfortunately, when the elevator finally opened, it was only to spit out Grant Ward and Agent 33, along with their two guards.

Clint felt Simmons go tense with rage when she saw Ward. He reached down to touch the back of her hand to ground her. Simmons turned her gaze away from Ward and pointedly ignored him. She didn’t even react, except for the tightening around her eyes, when Ward greeted her with a congenial, “Agent Simmons.”

“Maybe you should zip it,” Clint said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And you are?” Ward said, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Clint snorted at the question and didn’t bother answering it. SHIELD agents, particularly Specialists, and especially those who were HYDRA spies, knew exactly who Hawkeye was.

Gonzales and Bobbi were next. They walked past the group with just a glance at Clint and Simmons. Bobbi’s expression turned distasteful when Ward fell under her gaze.

May, along with Phil and Fitz were the last to arrive. Clint wasn’t surprised to not see Hunter among their number, as he had probably been taken directly to Medical. May barely spared Clint or Simmons a glance as she passed them on the way to the office. Simmons threw herself at Fitz when she saw him, and their greeting hid the look Clint and Phil exchanged.

Clint wasn’t allowed in the meeting that apparently Grant Ward was privy to, so he got to spend an awkward few minutes waiting in the hallway with Agent 33 and the two guards. Clint already had the earbud in and didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty at listening in. He figured if they didn’t want him to eavesdrop, they should have let him attend.

It took some effort to keep his expression blank as he listened to Phil (and Ward) spell out their plan, especially when Gonzales, Bobbi, and Ward exited the room to give May and Phil a chance to speak privately. Well, privately except for Clint.

Ward and Agent 33 were escorted to Medical. Gonzales and Bobbi acknowledged Clint and joined his vigil. A few minutes later the office door opened once more and May stepped out. Her gaze took in the tableau the three of them made, but she focused on Gonzales.

“I’m in,” May said.

Gonzales nodded.

May stepped into the hallway and Phil appeared in the doorway. He took in the line of them and said, “Robert.”

“Phil.”

Only then did Phil publicly acknowledge Clint’s presence. “Barton.”

“Coulson,” Clint said. “A word?”

Phil glanced at Gonzales. “Would it be alright if I used my office to speak with Agent Barton?”

May rolled her eyes. Gonzales waved his hand magnanimously at the office. Phil stepped back inside and indicated that Clint should join him. Clint pushed off the wall and followed Phil into the office without looking at anyone else. He waited until he’d closed the door firmly behind himself before speaking.

“What the hell, Phil! You turned yourself in? Why did you even put me in here if you were just going to . . .”

“I almost had her,” Phil said.

Phil’s tone more than the words brought Clint up short. “Who?”

“Skye. She was right there.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint said. He forced himself to ignore the unhappy look on Phil’s face and said, “But that doesn’t explain why you turned yourself in to Gonzales.”

“I had to,” Phil said, shaking off his regret at not getting Skye out. “Change of plans. HYDRA took Mike. And I needed their help.”

“For what?” Clint said, then answered his own question. “The fighter jets.”

“Yes. Once I’ve gotten what I need out of there, we’re going to level the facility.”

“What is it that you want out of there?”

“Rescuing the prisoners isn’t enough?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but in this case there’s something more going on.”

Phil’s silence was answer enough.

“I’m going with you,” Clint said.

“No.”

“You do not get to bring me in and then put me on the back burner . . .”

“I didn’t bring you in,” Phil said, unflappable as always.

“Fuck you,” Clint said. “You came to me, to our farm . . “

“I need you here,” Phil said. “Gonzales still doesn’t know I sent you?”

“No,” Clint admitted.

Phil nodded. “I don’t need eyes up high for this mission, but I need you here, holding my base for me until I return.”

Clint clenched his jaw. “Who are you taking for back-up instead of Hunter?”

“May,” Phil said. “She wants to keep an eye on me anyway.”

“So you, May, and Ward, that’s your team,” Clint said.

“And Fitz,” Phil said. “I need him to disable the missile defenses.”

“This just keeps getting better and better. Four people for a 2-pronged attack, one of whom you can’t even trust.”

“Five if you count Ward’s man on the inside, but since I don’t trust him, either, that’s probably not a point in my favor, so . . .”

“Aren’t you supposed to be building a _better_ case for yourself?” Clint said.

Phil shrugged. “I need you here,” he said.

When Phil said it like that . . . “You’re still an asshole.”

Phil gave Clint a smile, the one that said he’d won, but he wasn’t going to be a dick about it.

“I’m doing this for you, you need to do something for me,” Clint said.

“Anything,” Phil said.

“Come back.”

“Okay,” Phil said, as if it was just that simple.

“I’m still really mad at you.”

“Understood.”

Clint backed Phil into the desk and kissed him. He’d missed that after Phil died, and he’d told himself, before, that if had just one more chance he wouldn’t let it pass without taking advantage of it. And he’d tell him, he’d tell Phil that he loved him.

“I love you, too,” Phil said, and Clint kissed him harder to shut him up.

~*~*~*~

It was difficult, but Clint stayed out of the way while final preparations for the mission were under way. As far as Gonzales was concerned, Clint wasn’t there because of Phil, and he wasn’t going on the mission, so he’d have no reason to be involved. He listened to as much of the planning as he could, at least the bits that took place in Phil’s office, but it was frustrating to be on the sidelines. Especially since he knew that Phil was going out without him.

He visited the range and the gym, but there was only so long he could stay in either place without it looking suspiciously like there was something he was trying to keep his mind off of. On the way back to his quarters to clean up and change his shirt, Clint overheard a conversation between Gonzales and Bobbi that he was definitely not supposed to hear. It probably shouldn’t have surprised Clint that Gonzales thought Phil, and everyone on the mission, was expendable. A sacrifice for the greater good.

Clint went to the bathroom and dunked his head under a stream of cold water. He raised his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t see the water dripping off his face, only the resolve. He went to the kitchen for something to eat – someone had made macaroni and cheese and grilled hot dogs. Once he’d fueled up, Clint went to Medical to visit Hunter. They hardly knew each other, but with Simmons busy with Fitz, he was the only person aside from Clint who was on Team Phil and stuck at the base. Clint needed his help.

Clint sat in the chair beside the bed despite Hunter’s closed eyes and feeble attempt at faking sleep. “How’re you feeling?”

Hunter cracked his eyelids. “Hey, mate!” He grimaced as he pushed himself higher in the bed. “Thought you might be Bobbi.”

“Your fake sleeping needs some work.”

“Fuck you,” Hunter said, then, “What’s that?”

“Macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.”

“Is that for me? Then hand it over, I’m starving.”

“Ward didn’t take you to the Drive-Thru on the way back?”

“Don’t get me started on Ward,” Hunter said. He glanced to the side. “Or his Bond Barbie.”

“You two are bonding,” Bobbi said. “That’s . . . frightening.”

Clint forced a smile. “Bobbi. Are they leaving?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Not yet,” Bobbi said. “Soon.”

Clint nodded. “Well, I’m going to leave you two . . .”

“What?” Hunter said through a mouthful of food. “No, wait!” His eyes begged Clint to not leave him alone with Bobbi.

Clint smiled and waved. Out in the hallway he allowed himself a small chuckle. That was the most fun he’d had in a while, which was saying something.

Clint took the stairs and headed directly for the hangar. He was going to see Phil off, but he didn’t need an audience.

Simmons was the first person he saw when she and Fitz entered the hangar. At first he thought she was merely there to see them off, as well, but then he noticed that she was suited up in a tactical uniform. “Simmons? You’re going, too?”

“Yes,” Simmons said, pausing beside Clint. “Mike Peterson is going to need medical attention, and I’m already familiar with his anatomical structure. Besides, I can’t let Fitz out of my sight again so soon,” she added with a wince, knowing that Clint was being forced to do just that with Phil.

Clint smiled because he didn’t want her to feel bad, and also so she wouldn’t see his worry. “Be careful out there.”

“I will. You, too,” Simmons said, giving Clint a significant look that he couldn’t decipher.

May went past without a word and Simmons caught up with Fitz. Ward gave Clint a quizzical look as he passed. Phil stopped beside him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said with an expression that said he was glad Clint was anyway.

“Stay safe,” Clint said.

Phil nodded.

“Come home.”

It was only slightly difference from the sentiment he’d voiced earlier in Phil’s office, but that difference meant everything. Phil gave Clint a look, then reached out and took his hand. To anyone else, it might look like they shook. The brief moment was over too soon, and Phil was walking up the ramp into the Bus. Phil pressed the button to close the hatch, and looked back, his gaze catching Clint’s, and a moment later he was closed off from Clint’s sight.

Clint stayed while the Bus lifted off, until the hangar doors closed overhead, and he was alone in the hangar. Only then did Clint open his hand and look at the earpiece that lay in his palm.

~*~*~*~

Clint went back to the communal bathroom on the Quarters level and retrieved the Glock19 and Gerber Mark II. He carefully stuck the knife in his boot, and the pistol and magazines in various pockets of his cargo pants. His position really hadn’t changed, but he didn’t know what was going to happen next and he didn’t trust Gonzales – even before he knew that Gonzales was sending Phil’s team out on a mission he didn’t know whether they’d come back from, didn’t _care_ whether they came back from, there had been something about how reasonable and agreeable he was being that set off Clint’s bullshit radar. He didn’t want to be unarmed when the shit (as it inevitably would) hit the fan.

His next step was to get Hunter, who (now that Simmons had left the base) was his only back-up (aside from Koenig) in the game. Clint stopped by Hunter’s quarters and used the Level 10 swipe card to gain entry, then he went by the Lounge for a deck of cards he remembered seeing there. His next stop was Medical.

Bobbi hadn’t been there to see off Phil’s team, so he was glad to see that she wasn’t at Hunter’s bedside. “No Bobbi?” Clint said when Hunter saw him coming.

“Fuck you very much, mate,” Hunter said.

Clint chuckled and held up the clothes. “Is that any way to talk to the guy who’s gonna get you out of that gown?”

Clint tossed the clothes down on the end of the bed, and then held up the cards. Hunter frowned, but didn’t say anything while Clint dealt. They played a couple hands of Rummy, just long enough for Clint to make sure that the doctors were more concerned with Agent 33 than with Hunter. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Hell yes,” Hunter said. “What’s the catch?”

Clint told Hunter what he’d overheard.

“I knew the goods that guy was selling were too good to be true. What do you need me to do?”

“Find Mack, or Bobbi. See what you can find out. Then call me.”

“Where will you be?”

“Visiting Agent Koenig,” Clint said.

They left Medical without anyone noticing. Hunter moved off slowly in search of Mack or Bobbi; Clint got on the elevator and inserted the swipe card, then spoke his name when prompted to do so. 

“Voice recognition, Clint Barton, confirmed,” a computer generated voice said, and the elevator began to move downward.

When the elevator doors opened, Koenig turned from where he sat on a large couch killing zombies on a large flat screen.

“Agent Barton!” Koenig said, sounding happy to see them.

“Billy,” Clint said. “And I told you, call me Clint.”

“Clint,” Koenig said with an apologetic look. “What can I do for you? I presume you’re not here to join me in killing zombies.”

“You’re right. I need you to hack into the Bus,” Clint said. “Simmons has already started the job – she got into the cell where Phil was being held, but I’d like to be able to monitor the entire Bus from here.”

“Is that everything?” Koenig said as he pressed a button on a remote and a section of wall panel moved to reveal a state of the art computer system hidden behind it.

“No,” Clint said. “I want you to hack into operations so we can monitor the mission.”

“That’s it? I thought you were going to give me something difficult,” Koenig said cheerfully as he set to work.

~*~*~*~

Hunter called while Koenig was still working. Clint went to meet him and bring him down to Koenig’s level.

“Hello, Agent Hunter,” Koenig greeted without looking away from the computer screen.

“How did you know I accepted Coulson’s offer?” Hunter said, suspicious.

Koenig pointed to his own head. “I know many things.”

“That’ll never not be creepy,” Hunter said.

Clint had been tense since he overheard Gonzales’ comment, and it had only gotten worse when the hatch had closed, leaving him behind while Phil went off an a dangerous mission with a fractured team – May didn’t trust Phil, and no one trusted Ward, and Gonzales didn’t care if any of them came back or not. The sound of Phil’s voice in his ear via the comms did very little to alleviate that, though Clint had offered to kiss Koenig when he managed to pull up feeds for all of the cameras hidden on the Bus, giving them both eyes and ears on the team.

Just before the part of the mission that had Clint sweating bullets just thinking of the million and one ways it could go wrong, Phil looked directly into one of the cameras, his back to the rest of his team, and signed. Clint’s eyes burned. He automatically signed back, even though Phil wouldn’t be able to see him.

“What was that?” Hunter said.

“ASL,” Koenig said. “That’s American Sign Language.”

“Yeah, no, I got that,” Hunter said. “What did he say?”

“I believe his message was a private one for Agent Barton,” Koenig said. “Unless there’s something about your relationship with Director Coulson that I’m _not_ aware of.”

“What? No!” Hunter looked at Clint and shook his head. “There is nothing . . .”

Clint gave Hunter a smile that wavered only a little. “I know.”

“Good.” Hunter gave Koenig a weak punch. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Of course not,” Koenig said. “That would be against my directive.”

“Good to know,” Hunter said.

“Unless Director Coulson changes my directive,” Koenig added.

Clint gripped the arms of the chair, glad that Koenig was keeping Hunter busy while he had to witness the Bus being blown out of the sky and wait to see if the Quinjet made it down safely.

Instead of hacking into operations, Koenig had activated a camera in Phil’s office where Gonzales, Bobbi, and Mack were keeping an eye on the mission. That way they could monitor Gonzales as well as the mission.

“I thought you’d want to know what Agent Gonzales was up to,” Koenig said.

“How’d you know?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Koenig said, and then laughed. “That was a joke,” he said when no one else laughed. “Because I wasn’t . . . Never mind. The truth is, I have access to every part of the base,” he said.

“So you . . . overhear conversations?”

“Yes.”

“What am I missing?” Hunter asked.

“Billy overheard Gonzales’ and Bobbi’s conversation,” Clint said.

“I don’t suppose you recorded it,” Hunter said.

Gonzales’ voice immediately came from the speakers. _Sometimes we make sacrifices for the greater good._

Hearing those words again, the ease with which Gonzales spoke them . . . Clint was out of his chair before he realized it. He couldn’t sit still, so he paced the back of Koenig’s living area while they all monitored Phil at the HYDRA base and Gonzales, Bobbi, and Mack in the office.

He’d been wound tight before, but it was even worse now. Clint held his breath when Phil confirmed that the missile defense system had been disabled, afraid that Gonzales might take it upon himself to rid himself of a problem and send in the fighter jets early. Clint let out an explosive breath when Phil and the others were safely away.

“We’re on our way home,” Phil said, and Clint knew that the message was for him more than Gonzales.

Clint scrubbed his hands over his face and the top of his head. “I really need to hit something,” he said.

“I believe Agent Hunter needs to get back to Medical,” Koenig said.

Clint agreed. Hunter was beginning to look ragged. But he couldn’t forget Gonzales’ cold, calculating statement, his notion that Phil, or anyone else on his team, were expendable.

“I hope that expression isn’t for me,” Hunter said as he got back into his bed in Medical.

“No,” Clint said. He slipped the Glock and two magazines beneath Hunter’s pillow. “Just in case,” Clint said. “Besides, I shouldn’t be armed when I go out there.”

“What about the fancy knife in your boot?” Hunter said.

“I need to be a little bit armed,” Clint said, not surprised that Hunter had detected the knife.

“Hey,” Bobbi said as she and Mack stepped into Medical. “Where did you guys go? We looked for you earlier.”

“I needed to get out of here,” Hunter said. “Barton took me to see a movie to keep our minds off the mission.”

“You weren’t in the lounge,” Bobbi said.

“Keeping tabs?” Hunter said bitterly.

“I was worried about you,” Bobbi said.

“Nah,” Clint said, stepping in. “Koenig was bored, too.”

“Koenig?” Mack said, eyeing Clint. “I never see that guy around.”

“What did you watch?” Bobbi asked.

“Don’t remember the title,” Hunter said. “But it had lots of action, suspense . . .”

“Little bit of betrayal,” Clint added.

“Riveting stuff,” Hunter said.

“Listen, I’m glad you guys are here,” Clint said, changing the subject. “I was just telling Hunter that I need to work off a little energy. Either one of you up for sparring?”

Bobbi looked at Mack, then back to Clint. “How about both of us?”

Hunter snorted.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Hunter,” Bobbi said.

Clint’s smile was wolfish. “Even better,” he said.

~*~*~*~

Clint met the Quinjet in the hangar. This time he wasn’t the only one. Medical was there to take charge of the two wounded they’d brought back with them. The two gurneys were offloaded first. They rushed past so quickly that Clint couldn’t tell whether Mike was awake or not. Simmons and Fitz ran alongside Mike, while Skye kept pace with the second gurney that carried an enhanced person who looked even worse off than Mike had, and that was saying something.

Phil stepped off the jet. Clint knew that he had to be exhausted, but he was clearly riding the high of a job well done.

“Where’s Ward?” Clint asked.

“He had a different exit strategy,” Phil said.

“What now?”

“I’m expecting a phone call,” Phil said.

“From who?”

“Hill,” Phil said, and then he started walking.

Clint followed. “Hill?”

The corner of Phil’s lips twitched upward just enough to let Clint know that he was a little bit proud of himself.

Clint glanced back at the jet. “Where’s May?”

“Probably still trying to decide whether to shoot me or not,” Phil said lightly.

“Sir?” Clint said.

“I’m pretty sure she won’t,” Phil said.

“That’s not funny,” Clint said, but before he could say anything else, Phil’s phone rang.

Phil got out his phone and glanced at the screen. “Not Hill,” he said.

Clint waited while Phil spoke with Ward, and then they continued on towards Phil’s office. Along the way they came across Gonzales and Bobbi and overheard the last part of their conversation.

“What are we voting on now?” Phil said.

Bobbi gave Clint a strange look, as if trying to figure out why he was with Phil. Clint stared back at her, daring her to ask. Phil indicated that Clint should go on ahead of him. Clint hated to leave Phil alone, but he gritted his teeth and kept walking.

Phil showed up a few minutes later, though it seemed much longer. He closed the door behind himself, then pointed to the phone he held to his ear to let Clint know he’d received the call he’d been waiting for.

“Hold on, Maria,” Phil said, “I’m going to put you on the large screen. Barton’s here, by the way.”

Phil pressed some buttons and Hill’s disembodied voice said, “Barton.”

“Hill,” Clint said.

Clint remained silent while Phil and Hill spoke, though his blood ran cold when they started talking about Loki’s scepter. Phil glanced at him a few times, as if gauging how well he was holding up.

“‘HYDRA stole the scepter, among other things, when they raided The Fridge,” Phil said the moment he disconnected the call.

“And you’ve been looking for it,” Clint said dully.

“We’ve been looking for all of the items,” Phil said, “but yes, that is one I was especially keen to recover.”

“You’re sending the Avengers after it.”

“Yes,” Phil said.

“Was that the plan all along?” Clint said.

“To involve the Avengers?” Phil said. “Yes.”

“To involve me,” Clint said.

“No. Well, I mean, Hill was going to call you once we found it; we both thought you might want to be involved in retrieving it. But I didn’t . . . That’s not why I came to the farm.”

Clint didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to _think_. Phil had broken his heart, and then he’d just shown up and Clint was trying to deal with that, and now the scepter was thrown into the mix.

“I needed a place where it was safe to just . . . take a breath and figure out what came next,” Phil said.

“You always know what comes next. You’re always thinking two steps ahead.”

“Not always,” Phil said sadly.

“No,” Clint agreed. “The one time you didn’t . . .”

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Phil said.

“And then you let me go,” Clint said. He wanted to be angry, but he was just fucking sad. “Just like you’re doing now.”

“No,” Phil said. “That’s not what this is. You know now. And I’m not letting you go, not if you don’t want me to.”

“I never wanted you to,” Clint said, and then he was in Phil’s arms, and Phil was kissing him. Clint allowed himself to forget, for just a moment, how fucked up everything was between them.

When they pulled back, Phil said, “You can take the Quinjet to New York,” as if Clint going was a forgone conclusion. Who was he kidding, it was, probably had been since Phil walked back into his life.

“I’m coming back,” Clint said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Phil said.

The End


End file.
